


Both

by feedmyflame



Category: Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Fantasizing, Masturbation, Multi, Sexual Fantasy, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:26:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feedmyflame/pseuds/feedmyflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stefan’s gone and Damon’s off-limits and she feels them both in her sleep. (Set somewhere in the middle of season 3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semele](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semele/gifts).



> Written for the Valentine's Day Porn Comment Ficathon. Prompt by upupa_epops: "She wants to feel them both at once."

She sleeps with both of them, almost every night.

Stefan’s gone and Damon’s off-limits and she fucks them both in her sleep, subconscious refusing to let either one go, and she wakes up shaking with wetness in her shorts. Half the time she goes back to sleep and the other half she reaches for her top drawer. She wonders, sometimes, if Jeremy can feel the vibrations through the walls, and decides she doesn’t care and hopes he sleeps through it. They’ll keep up the fiction just fine, regardless.

The dreams are jumbled and she can’t remember exactly, but she remembers snippets: a flip, a face over her, a hand in her hair. Too many hands on her, she can’t really count, but definitely more than two, and it feels almost like sacrifice; she doesn’t know what she’s losing, just that it makes her want to hold on tighter. She wakes up breathless, usually, panicked and aroused and she can’t think about it or she’ll never sleep again.

This night she reaches for the drawer.

Damon was the face in her dream this time, but again, too many hands to just be his. His face was clearer than most dream imagery, as literal as dreams get, she supposes; a faithful reproduction of his features. But they were twisted in ways her subconscious had to imagine, improvise, cobble together from the faces of previous lovers. (Admittedly, there weren’t many.)

She wishes she could fuck him, just once. (Maybe more than once.) The sex they’d have. _Fuck_. It killed her just to think about it, to fantasize about his expressions, the sounds she’d hear him make, the way he’d touch her, the places he’d put his tongue. She thought about it in class sometimes, or when she was doing errands, or when she wiped the counters. Especially when she wiped the counters.

She never let herself think about it for too long, though. One fantasy too many and what would it say about her?

But no one could begrudge her a little release. She’s going to fuck him one way or another; at least if it’s in her imagination she doesn’t have to deal with the fallout.

Sometimes she takes her time when she touches herself. Elena loves her body, loves spending time with it: taking stock of the way her nipples perk when she touches them, trailing a light finger down the dip of her neck, running her hands over elevated thighs when she bends her knees up. Tonight, though, she skips the foreplay; the Salvatores have saved her the trouble, and by the time she rests the vibrator against her clit she’s already wet.

The house is never quieter than when she’s trying not to make noise. It’s hard—Elena’s vocal—and even when she’s not using sound to communicate her pleasure she finds herself aching to cry out. The intensity of sensation pulls at her vocal chords and she chomps into her lip to fight it down. Instead, she lets the figures in her fantasies do the moaning; fantasy-Elena pants on hands and knees while Damon pulls her head up by long hair, teeth grazing her shoulder as he moves her hips repeatedly into his. She hears his heedless stuttering; he’s completely consumed by the feel of her around him, and nothing gets her off more than hearing her men whimper. Men, plural, because Stefan watches with heavy breath. 

Elena writhes under the comforter and turns into the instrument as fantasy-Elena smiles mercifully at Stefan, beckoning him closer; she takes his tip into her mouth to hear the paralyzing pleasure in his voice. She slides her tongue under the smooth head and another hand works into her hair, gentler than Damon; the power of it rocks through her, and she hums vibration against Stefan.

Damon’s voice is in her ear, _Elena_ , and it turns into a chorus. _Elena_. They beg her, plead; they worship her. _Elena_.

She spreads her legs wider against the sheets. Her fantasies don’t usually feature her in them, but the thought of her boys at her feet has her close. The vibrator slides in easily when she moves it into her cunt, and her fingers take over her clitoris; her movements speed as her mouth drops open. She concentrates on the soft and rough holds on her hair, the feel of Damon inside her, the vulnerable submission of the cock in her mouth, and she feels a rapid ascent building around the vibrations.

 _Elena_. The chorus grows desperate, distracted, scattered. _E-elena_... Stefan comes first, collapsing against her tongue with a helpless gasp; Damon’s not far behind. His thrusts gain momentum and fantasy-Elena slides faster against him. _Fuck, Elena,_ and he’s gone, helpless and uncontrolled. Elena takes a bird’s-eye view and sees the powerless contortion of features undone by her image as Damon comes inside her, and she clenches in anticipation. 

The blanket bunches as Elena rises up under it. She works her finger rapidly against her clit in time with the forward tilt of her vibrator, and the diversity of pleasure builds into a single overwhelming crest. A few seconds of buildup take her breath away as she braces for release; then, powerfully, muscles clench and contract and she can’t keep herself from panting, elation flooding through her center and out. An “ah” escapes her; she writhes in pleasure and the figures disappear from her mind. She’s totally blank for a second, pulled into a plane of wordless distraction, until the clenches start to slow and she drops back onto her pillow with a heaving sigh.

Endorphins tour her insides. Arousal transitions to sated relaxation. Calm and peace descend over her; her muscles mellow and melt, and her cushioned head drops to the side.

Right before she falls back asleep, she thinks she hears a whisper: _Elena_. She’s under before she can decide if it’s real.


End file.
